What If God Sends Comets to Wake Me?
I know its not all about me, the grace that stirs me from my sleep.
There was a time when I did not like to get up early in the morning. I was not a sunrise chaser (unless I already was on my way to work). I didn’t crave the stillness of dawn the way some do, but as I grow older and walk a new path in recovery, I am finding those things calling to me, and something that calls me the most? A bright comet, without fail, will push me into the darkness of a cold morning.
Lately, I’ve been wondering if comets might be God’s way of nudging me out of bed. Not with guilt or obligation, but with wonder. With a whisper: “Come see what I’ve set in motion while you slept.”
Comet C/2025 A6 (Lemmon) has become that whisper. It’s proving to be one of the most beautiful comets I’ve ever imaged, graceful, luminous, unfolding like a firework in the dark. Each morning I track it, I feel something stir in me. Not just excitement, but something deeper. A kind of spiritual awakening. As if the act of watching this icy traveler glide across the heavens is also a way of watching my own soul thaw.
There’s something holy about the cold, about standing outside while the world is still asleep, wrapped in layers and silence. The motors in the telescope hum, and the shutter of the camera clicks for each frame taken. The stars hold their breath as I watch mine in a fog come out of my mouth and nostrils. That 1st image comes in on the screen, and there it is. Lemmon. Alive in the frame. Tail stretching. Light blooming. A message written in motion.
I don’t know what it’s saying exactly. But I know it’s saying something.
Maybe it’s this: that grace doesn’t always come in the form of comfort. Sometimes it comes in the form of a 4 a.m. alarm that sounds like a whisper from our creator and a sky full of star dust. Sometimes it’s a comet that reminds me I am still capable of awe. That I still want to be surprised. That I am still listening.
So tonight, as I wind down and prep the gear again, I’m already anticipating tomorrow’s cold. And strangely, I’m grateful for it.
Because I think I’m starting to believe:
God sends comets to wake the parts of me that sleep too long.
Until next time, keep looking up.
-g
Last year about this time there was a comet. It came and we all watched. My dad had just turned 94 he saw it too. A month later he passed away. Before he passed I asked him for a sign from the other side. Comet Lemmon is surely that sign, for me anyway.
Thank you for the wonderful images of it, amazing how much it changes day to day.
Milt
The way you describe being drawn out of bed by wonder, not willpower, really resonates. There’s a quiet holiness in those cold dawn hours, and you’ve painted it beautifully: the hush, the anticipation, the small rituals. I love the idea that comets (and maybe all rare moments of awe) are invitations to wake up parts of ourselves we’ve let drift off. Thank you for reminding me that grace can look like a shiver, a sky full of stars, and a renewed sense of possibility. Your post makes me want to set my own alarm for wonder.